


a new morn hides within the darkest of storms

by authoressjean



Series: the changed future [23]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Gen, M/M, Politics, long awaited happy ending for certain characters, mentions of aging, mentions of assassination plots, yes that uncool thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2014-04-02
Packaged: 2018-01-17 21:06:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1402444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/authoressjean/pseuds/authoressjean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twenty years after "to change", post "I will carry your pain all the way home".</p>
<p>On a dark and stormy night in the Shire, Bag-End receives a very surprising guest, one who comes with the sole purpose of speaking to Thorin and Bilbo. Not for their need, but for his own. And, perhaps, they will also discover something for themselves, and all find peace at long last.</p>
<p>One-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a new morn hides within the darkest of storms

**Author's Note:**

> I have hesitated and put off posting this fic for a very long time, but it needs to be shared if I'm going to move forward in the series, so. There are personal feelings attached with it that I feel I need to make known.
> 
> The situation that I describe with the Council's manipulation is, in fact, based very heavily off of what happened to me over the past year. Money and power turning good people into very despicable beings, and, in the end, making me choose to either follow my morals or follow their whims, and I chose my morals. This came with a lot of heartbreak, so writing this was exceedingly personal. I don't want this to cloud the fic, but y'all deserve to know WHY this took so damn long to do. A few months out has helped, but it still hurts. I lost people I called family, and the influence of three people holding the purse strings damaged relationships that were years strong.
> 
> But this was always my plan for Dain. Remember, big picture plans from the very beginning, and this was always what I'd hoped to do with Dain. The only thing that changed was my own personal touch. Writing's the best therapy and all that.
> 
> You didn't come here to listen to me ramble, you came for fic. So have fic.

On one of the deepest, darkest nights of the year, with the rain falling down and the wind howling, there came a knock at the door. Bilbo’s head whipped up from his book, his entire body going taut and still.

Elodie, who’d been heading to bed, paused. “Should I-?”

“No, I’ll get it,” Bilbo assured her. “Go on to bed, dear heart.”

Elodie didn’t move. The knocking began again. “Go on,” Bilbo said once more, and Elodie bit her lip.

“No one should be out in this storm. No one decent.”

No, and Bilbo had thought that through, thank you _very_ much. Which was all the more reason to get Elodie to bed. “Would you make certain your brother’s tucked in?” Bilbo asked, all but pleading with her to go. His eyes caught sight of Orcrist by the door, which was closer than Sting was. It would do.

“Let me get Uncle Thorin-“

“Who went to bed early because he wasn’t feeling well,” Bilbo said firmly. “Leave him be.” He’d come back from the forge with an aching head that not even Bilbo’s herbs had touched. He could only hope that sleep would help his husband.

The knocking came again, loud enough now that it might even wake Thorin in the back bedroom. “Elodie, go _now_ ,” Bilbo ordered, and Elodie turned and hurried away. After ensuring she was down the hall a good ways, he stepped to the door and took Orcrist in hand. It was heavy, and seemed heavier after every day. Getting old wasn’t a great deal of fun, but he could still lift it at seventy years of age. That was good enough for him.

The wind beat against the windows as he made to grasp the handle. There would be no hearing a voice from outside, no peeking out the window with the night being as black as it was. No, there was nothing for it except to open the door. Bilbo straightened his back and pulled Orcrist in front of him. At least it wasn’t blue, but there were more dangerous things in the world than goblins and orcs.

With a quick flick of his wrist Bilbo undid the dwarven locks and pulled the door open. He could barely make out a few lights from the town below, from homes he knew were close. “Hello?” he called.

Suddenly a figure emerged from the darkness, tall and cloaked, and all Bilbo saw was the shimmer of a blade. “State your intention,” Bilbo snapped, Orcrist held high. “Name and intention, now!”

“You’d deny your husband’s kin a place for the night?” a familiar voice said, and Bilbo froze. It _couldn’t_ be. Orcrist hung in the air, his resolve faltering but not enough to make him move.

A warmth at his back made him breathe out slowly even while he mentally cursed Elodie out. “Who seeks our doorway?” Thorin asked, sounding much better than he had a few hours ago.

“Your cousin,” and Dain stepped forward into the light. “Please tell me I can come in: I’m not certain I could find my way back to the inn at this point.”

Thorin rested a gentle hand on Bilbo’s shoulder, and Bilbo lowered Orcrist down and away. “Come in before you’re blown away,” he said. Thorin helped keep the door from being knocked about by the wind, and Dain stumbled inside, cloak dripping on the floor. He only had one pack upon his back, and when he pushed his hood back, his hair was soaked through, his braids a mess. He looked like a drenched puppy, lost in the storm, and Bilbo almost wished he could be mad at him, for Thorin’s sake.

He was far too sympathetic sometimes. “I’ll get you some tea to warm you up inside,” Bilbo said, taking his pack and setting it aside. “Have you eaten at all?”

“Not since lunch,” Dain admitted. “Beast of a time trying to find you. I got lost a few times.”

“You’re definitely of the Line of Durin,” Bilbo muttered. He ignored Thorin’s scowl and moved into the kitchen, where the small fire was easily coaxed back into a roaring flame. The kettle was put on, and he quickly began cooking a few of the sausages he hadn’t made for dinner. Bread went into the oven to be warmed, and there was enough chicken broth left for a good soup. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do for now.

And he was absolutely ignoring the fact that Dain, King of the Iron Hills, was currently standing alone in his smial. Which brought about another question.

He stepped back out to see Thorin helping Dain take off his cloak. “Are there any others?” Bilbo asked.

Dain shook his head. “No, just me. My guards are back in Bree.”

“You traveled alone? In this weather?” Thorin asked, surprised. “Have you rocks for brains?”

Bilbo tensed at the unchecked comment, but Dain actually laughed and looked _relieved_. “Sometimes. Which would be the manner of my arriving so late and so poorly.”

“Poorly arriving is thirteen dwarves who empty your pantry and leave you fainting in shock over dragonfire,” Bilbo said dryly. “And I even forgave that and went with them, in the end.”

Thorin snorted, lips turning up. “And you were good to do it,” Dain praised, his voice somehow enough to fill the space. Bilbo had a feeling that would never change. “I’d be much obliged if I could dry off. I promise not to empty the pantry.”

Thorin met Bilbo’s eyes over Dain’s head. _Are you all right with him?_

Bilbo gave a quick nod. _I am, as long as you’re here._

That decided his husband. “Come stand in front of the hearth,” Thorin said. “I’ll find towels to help you get dry.”

Bilbo jerked his head towards the kitchen, and Dain followed after him, boots heavy on the floor. Probably tracking mud and water around, at the very least, but Frodo had done the exact same thing just that afternoon. Lads of the age of seven were prone to bringing in the outdoors. It only meant Bilbo’d be washing the floors twice. “I hope sausage and broth is acceptable,” Bilbo said, moving to the stove to stir again once Dain was settled in front of the hearth. “There’s bread, too, which will be warm sooner rather than later.”

Dain nodded, suspiciously quiet. Bilbo stole a glance and found him warming his hands in front of the fire. After a long pause, he returned his attention to the broth.

“You’re wondering why I’m here.”

Bilbo paused. “You have to admit, it’s a decent question,” he finally said, also pitching his voice low as Dain had. “You’ve not spoken to Thorin in years, not since you sent your coronation note, and now you’re here, in the _Shire_ , the farthest from your Hills that you can be. You have to admit it’s a bit of a shock.”

“When I’m told that my cousin has abandoned the throne and left Erebor, that’s even more of a shock,” Dain said, beginning to unplait his braids. “I thought something dreadful had happened, when I heard that Fili was King and had left straight for Ered Luin upon his crowning.”

All right, Bilbo had to give him that. Without the extra details, it had to have sounded quite dramatic, for Thorin to one day be king and the next without crown. “It was his choice,” Bilbo said. He lifted the spoon to his lips and tasted the broth. A pinch more salt; it seemed a bit flat. “One he’d been considering for several years.”

“For you.”

Bilbo stilled, salt in hand. “He left for you,” Dain said, and Bilbo couldn’t quite place his tone: was it recrimination he heard? Anger? Was he accusing Bilbo?

It wasn’t as if Bilbo hadn’t tumbled those same thoughts around in his own head. Thorin’s life-long dream, to regain his homeland and wear the crown that rightfully belonged to him, and after seventeen years he’d simply tossed it aside and left for the Shire.

What could he possibly say to Dain? Because it was true: Thorin _had_ left for him. “He did,” Bilbo finally said at last. “He left for us.”

“Good,” Dain said, and Bilbo spun around. The dwarf had a small smile on his lips, and he looked weary but genuinely happy. “Good for him.”

Bilbo blinked. “I…thank you.” And then he was sort of lost again. Because of all the things he’d expected Dain to say, that hadn’t been it. Given how Dain had reacted to anyone that hadn’t been a dwarf in Erebor, that was in fact the thing Bilbo would’ve put money on for Dain to _never_ say.

He must’ve looked as perplexed as he felt, for Dain began to chuckle. “Cat got your tongue, little hobbit?” he asked. “I know the feeling well. Mine’s been well tied these past few years.”

Before Bilbo could ask, Thorin finally appeared, a multitude of towels in his arms. “Here, dry yourself off,” Thorin said, unceremoniously dropping them beside Dain. “You’ll feel better after you have.”

“You’ve gotten old, cousin,” Dain commented as he began to dry his beard. He stole a glance at Bilbo, then looked away. Bilbo knew that he himself looked older, of course he did: he didn’t have the years like Thorin did. Thorin could potentially live another fifty years, and Bilbo…Bilbo couldn’t. No hobbit had lived past 115 years save for the Great Bullroarer Took himself. And every year put Bilbo that much closer to his end.

Thorin’s lips pursed together, as if thinking the same thoughts and not being appreciative of it. “You haven’t gotten younger, either. And since we’re both old, I would recommend your speaking of your travels here now before we age any further.”

Oh Bilbo did love his husband best when he took charge like that. It made Bilbo’s old and foolish heart still beat something fierce.

Dain, surprisingly, didn’t bite back, but instead inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Agreed. Let me get something warm in me, and I’ll explain why I came.”

It wasn’t an unreasonable request, which Thorin had obviously been expecting. He finally gave a nod and turned to Bilbo. “I made a mess of the linens; I could use your help,” Thorin said, and the words, _I would speak with you alone,_ were still heard, despite being unspoken. Bilbo nodded and followed him out to the hall.

Beside the linen closet, which indeed looked disheveled, Thorin finally spoke. “What did he say to you?” he asked, voice low. “You looked bewildered when I entered.”

“He said it was good that we had left Erebor,” Bilbo said, then realized how his words could be taken. Even as Thorin’s nostrils flared in anger, Bilbo hurriedly continued. “Good for _us_. And I actually think he meant it. He mentioned being worried when he’d heard you were no longer king and that Fili, with the crown, was racing to Ered Luin.”

Thorin paused, then frowned. “He said these things?”

“I’m telling you that’s what he said. Thorin, I don’t know what brought him here, but he looks tired. Weary, and in more than just body. I think something terrible has happened.”

That didn’t seem to leave Thorin any more relieved, but he finally nodded. “I had the same thoughts. I don’t like that he’s here, seven years from when I last saw him, in the middle of the night. He could have well come tomorrow during the day with his guards.”

Bilbo’s eyes widened when he realized what Thorin was hinting at. “Do you think he fears treason?” he whispered. “Do you think he left his guards behind because he’s afraid of them?”

Thorin’s grim face said it all. “Oh sweet Eru,” Bilbo murmured. “I haven’t missed the politics.”

“Nor I. But if it affects the Iron Hills, it could affect Fili in Erebor, and he would need to be warned.”

Bilbo nodded. “Then we hear him out and make our next move.” He turned to go, but found Thorin’s hand on his elbow. He turned back with a frown. “What’s wrong?”

“I have not forgotten how he spoke of you, when last I was with him,” Thorin said lowly. “Nor have I forgotten what he said of Legolas, Dernwyn, Tauriel, and my great nephews and niece. You are far more forgiving than I, which I’m glad for. But I do not know that I can forgive what he said.”

His husband was fiercely determined, eyes dark and burning with a slow anger that could easily be stoked into a fury. Bilbo reached up and carefully brushed away silver strands. More of it silver than not these days, but Bilbo’s own hair was going a muddy grey that lost its golden shine every morning. Thorin at least still had dark strands mixed in with the silver, and at least his was coming in silver at all instead of muted and old-looking. He looked regal, standing before Bilbo as he did, but when didn’t he?

“He’s come a very long way just to speak with us,” Bilbo said. “I think there’s a very good reason for why.” At least, he hoped there was, instead of Dain coming to make their lives miserable.

Thorin cupped his face, cradling him, then pressed a kiss to his forehead. “What I would do without you,” he murmured. “It doesn’t bear thinking of.”

One day they’d have to, for Thorin’s sake, for the sake of Elodie and Frodo. But not now. “Come on, we’ve left him alone long enough,” Bilbo said, and this time Thorin allowed himself to be tugged forward.

Dain was working on fixing the last of his braids when they came in. He was also standing beside the broth, stirring it. “I hope you don’t mind,” he said. “It was starting to bubble a little.”

“Not at all, I’m glad you were here to do it. The last time something boiled over, it was Frodo trying to make a dessert.” They’d cleaned sweet and sticky sugar out of _everything_ that day, and still were: Thorin had found another bit of it in the hinge of a cabinet door just a week before.

“Is Frodo…yours?” Dain asked, his face curious but otherwise blank. Thorin went tense beside Bilbo, but Bilbo placed a hand on his husband’s arm to half comfort, half warn.

“He is and he isn’t. My cousins drowned a few years back, and both Frodo and his sister came into my care and keeping. It was another reason we left for the Shire.”

“We would not have abandoned kin,” Thorin said pointedly, and Bilbo could have kicked him. Dain winced and turned back to the chicken broth. An uncomfortable silence followed.

Dain was the first to break it. “I don’t doubt that. I don’t doubt it at all. It’s…why I came without my guards and entourage. I came for very selfish reasons.”

He raised his gaze, and it was haunted, a man who hadn’t slept in far too long. “I came to ask for your forgiveness. And for your help.”

Bilbo sort of stopped breathing, he thought, and it took Thorin brushing past him to get him started again. Thorin looked visibly upset, leaning more towards angry than anything else. “Why?” he asked, pitching his voice low so as to not wake Elodie and Frodo. It still shook, even at that level. “Why did you come, Dain? Erebor is in Fili’s hands-“

“I don’t want Erebor,” Dain said, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t even want the Iron Hills, Thorin!”

That brought Thorin up short. “You-“ And then he sort of stopped.

The broth was starting to bubble again, and the sausage, Bilbo was certain, was well sizzled at that point. “The table, both of you,” Bilbo ordered. “You’ll eat and then we’ll talk. And do _not_ argue with me, either of you: I won’t see meat, bread, and good broth go to waste because the both of you insist on standing in the middle of kitchen snapping at each other. You can do that while you’re sitting, and if you’re sitting, you might as well be eating, too.”

Thorin and Dain remained where they were, staring at him. Bilbo raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms, and Thorin immediately turned for the table, catching Dain at the last moment to drag him with him. Smart dwarf. He’d well learned to leave Bilbo alone in the kitchen when it came to meal preparation.

He was fairly certain he heard Thorin muttering to Dain about hobbits and their cooking but ignored it. He had a small meal to save.

The bread was thankfully only slightly toasted, and the broth was a little lacking in taste. The sausages, however, had come out just right. He threw in some sliced tomatoes with the sausage for a bit of cooking, then plated it all and set it on the table. Thorin was seated on one bench, Dain the other, and they were both still staring at each other. Bilbo cleared his throat, and they immediately turned their attention back to the food.

Dain seemed a bit surprised. “This is a great deal of effort to go through just for me,” he said. “Thank you, Bilbo.” He sounded truly grateful, and it went a long way towards helping Thorin relax.

“’When a guest comes knocking, the table best not be lacking’,” Bilbo quoted, perhaps one of his father’s most famous sayings. “Especially if he comes in through the rain and wind to get there.”

“Even if he comes unannounced, asking for things he ought not to ask for?” Dain asked, his attention moving to Thorin. “For I certainly have no claim for your time or your attention, and most certainly not the help of kin.”

“You were the one who broke that bond,” Thorin said sternly. “Not me.”

“I know,” Dain said quietly, and he sighed, rubbing at his temples. “Believe me, I know. My foolishness is well remembered.”

Thorin left him alone for a moment, choosing instead to focus on his bread. When Dain finally lifted his head, he kept his gaze on Thorin’s hands as they sliced through the loaf, as if mesmerized by the action. Thorin let him, and while the silence wasn’t uncomfortable, it was a pregnant pause nonetheless, and Bilbo found himself holding his breath.

When Dain spoke, the entire room seemed to breathe. “Heavy is the crown. You told me that, and I was so determined to have my own kingdom, to be my own king, that I didn’t listen. Brash and eager to jump feet first before I even looked where I plunged to.”

“Why did you feel you needed a crown?” Bilbo couldn’t help but ask. “You were leading them as a lord well enough-“

“And being walked all over by the other clans and nobles,” Dain said, shaking his head. “The day Thorin met with all of the dwarven leaders, to announce his intentions to take Erebor back, I had wanted to vote for him. I desperately wanted to. But each leader said no, that it was folly, and they turned to me with such expectation that…well. You know how I voted. Not one of them expected Thorin to succeed, and then he _did_. And then Erebor grew in vastness and in wealth, and the Iron Hills began to…fade away. And that was all there was left to it.

“But I thought the crown would help, that if my people had the Iron Hills to claim as their _kingdom_ , then that would make all the difference. It would stop the rumblings that the Iron Hills should become a part of Erebor, that the only Durin’s Son who should lead was Thorin. That all I had fought so hard to rule from such a young age should go to another. And I…I panicked.”

“You always were brash,” Thorin said, buttering his bread. He glanced up at Dain, though, and finally his eyes began to soften. “It’s what makes you such a good warrior in battle. You’re willing to do what needs to be done and in the quick turn of a moment.”

“ _That_ is more kindness than I deserve, at the moment,” Dain said, shaking his head. “You’ve no need to compliment me, Thorin. Not with what lies between us, what I’ve done. I tore us asunder not just once, but twice, and the first time was when you needed kin most of all as you searched for your husband.”

The tea kettle thankfully began whistling, and Bilbo was able to leave the table. Three teacups were easier to deal with than two dwarves, especially when it made him hearken back to a terrible time eight years ago, when he’d been kidnapped. Thorin had told him about what Dain had said, what Dain had done. What had seemed simple jealousy, however, had quickly grown the next summer, when Dain had visited Erebor.

And everything had sort of fallen apart after that.

“Yet here you are,” Thorin said, a questioning lilt to his voice.

“And here I am,” Dain agreed. He sounded weary again. “It got worse, after I returned from meeting you in the Grey Mountains. The nobles with me were argumentative about what the Iron Hills should do, and every single one of them had such a hand in running the Hills that I was torn between them. In the end, the decision was made that the Iron Hills needed a king. The nobles thought it was a grand idea but I knew I’d never be the king you were. I’d never amount to anywhere close to who you were. The only chance I had was to get your approval, to follow the course of the nobles and return to the Iron Hills as a royal. I thought that by agreeing to what the nobles wanted that I had a better chance of ruling over my people. But by following their sway, I got lost, and handed the ruling of the Iron Hills to them.”

Thorin remained silent: probably the safest of courses. This was more honest than Bilbo had ever heard Dain speak before, and he wasn’t about to break the spell and interrupt him now. Instead he settled for packing his herbs away and moving the cups to the table. Dain thanked him with a nod of his head while Thorin didn’t even acknowledge him. When Bilbo sat back down, however, Thorin’s foot gently brushed against his, and Bilbo hid his smile in his teacup.

“I shouldn’t have listened to them, I know I shouldn’t have. Then everything fell apart and I felt humiliated and angry-“

“Your own doing,” Thorin pointed out, and Bilbo nudged him a little harder with his foot.

Dain nodded with a huff. “My own doing, yes. I’ve always been quicker to speak than to think, and I did too much of one while not enough of the other. And in the end, the only person I truly hurt was myself.”

Well, if they were going to interrupt Dain, then Bilbo had a few questions of his own. “How much of what you said concerning Legolas and the other non-dwarves of Erebor was your own opinion, and how much of it was influenced by the nobles?”

Thorin paused, teacup almost to his lips. Dain’s face went a little red. “The nobles,” he finally said, and he set his fork aside. “But I believed it to be my own. Little did I know that they were influencing me so much and in such ridiculous ways. I should never have said those things. And this is why I’m here, now. To apologize and try to undo the harm I have done.”

He turned first to Bilbo, who sat up a little straighter at the sudden direct attention. “Bilbo Baggins, you have been nothing short of kind and gracious, and I returned it with insult. I offer my most earnest apologies and hope that, one day, you will think on me kindly.”

Bilbo shook his head and hurried to explain himself before Dain’s face could fall. “Forgiven, and you have been for a very long time. Though your words are a delightful surprise, I will grant you that. But you owe me no further apologies: forgiven and well in the past.”

It was Thorin’s turn to push at him a little harder than usual, and Bilbo ignored him. Dain had nothing to gain by coming all the way out to the Shire in order to apologize to Bilbo and Thorin. They were no longer rulers of any kingdom. They were simply the owners of Bag-End and the nurturers of two young hobbits and one dog. Dain had no political advancement here, which meant he’d done it for himself and for those whom he’d injured. That, to Bilbo, was the truest form of sincerity one could ever find.

Dain turned to Thorin, words already on his lips, but Thorin shook his head. “You owe apologies to those in Erebor, not to me.”

“I do owe you my apologies, though, for if I have grievously hurt anyone, it’s you, cousin.” Dain snorted. “I don’t even deserve to _call_ you that, anymore. I broke that bond, and cannot mend it, nor ask for it to be mended. But I had to try. Because if there is anyone who can offer me counsel and help me in this dark time, it’s you, Thorin. I would ask or trust no other.”

It was a long pause, Dain earnest and all but pleading with Thorin, and Thorin silent and stone-faced. Bilbo almost felt like fidgeting, so tense and silent was the moment.

He was halfway to rising when Thorin finally spoke. “What has happened?”

Not giving anything, but not turning Dain away, either. “After I was crowned, the nobles continued to try and lead me around as they had when I was a mere lord,” he said. “I refused and stood tall, with my own thoughts and my own deeds. I began to see that the picture they had painted of the other dwarven settlements was nothing but a lie. I had given them too much control, and wrestling it from them was harder than slaughtering a hunting pack of orcs with only a whittling knife. If I’d been given the choice, I’d have taken the orcs,” he added. Thorin’s lips twitched, as if barely holding back his amusement.

Dain either didn’t notice or couldn’t find any comfort in it, and instead continued, distressed. “One by one they’ve turned against me, and now I have no idea whose word I can trust or whose trust I still have. There were good dwarves in the Council of Nobles, once, and I fear they follow the others for the same reason I did: it’s the only way to stay in power. And all I wanted was to be a good leader, and instead of seeing kin for the aid that they were, I listened instead to the nobles. And now they have too much control, including with those who would travel to protect me.”

“You think your guards have turned against you?” Bilbo asked.

“Or they’ve been paid off. I made myself believe that what I said and did were my thoughts that had come from my mind, but it was the poison of the nobles, feeding me lie after lie. And now I sit, a king with barely any people, my nobles a right mess, and no idea what to do. I should never have let them forge me a crown. I should have listened to you, Thorin. I’m sorry-“

Thorin stood and made for the den. Dain watched him go and finally sat back, eyes on his half-finished dinner. He made no move to touch it, and after an awkward moment, Bilbo rose to follow his husband.

Thorin was pacing in front of the fireplace, lost deep in thought. Bilbo felt much the same, not even certain where to begin.

They hadn’t seemed like such a very loud bunch, the nobles, when they’d been in Erebor. But while Bilbo and the others had puzzled over why so many nobles had joined Dain’s entourage, the meaning was now clearer than it had been: to ensure things were done properly and the way they wanted them. It hadn’t been Dain who’d called an end to the meeting – it had been one of the nobles. Fili had found only one who’d been willing to speak with Erebor, while the others had dismissed him.

It was all starting to make a little too much sense. Dain’s random attacks that Thorin hadn’t understood, the sudden need for a crown…it had been a jumbled mess since the beginning, with the nobles gaining more and more control until Dain had been choking under it. In Dain’s own mind, the crown had been the answer. As brash as Dain was, his sudden dismissal of Thorin as kin had been fueled by fear and humiliation more than anything else.

“I wish I could believe him.”

Bilbo blinked at the quiet voice. “What, you think he’s lying?”

“I don’t know,” Thorin finally said after a pause. “I know my cousin. If it’s true, this unfortunately puts pieces in place that hadn’t been there before. My cousin was always so strong-willed and determined that I suppose I never thought he would be one to get lost under the whims of the court. It’s happened before, even in Erebor. The nobles took advantage of my grandfather’s gold-lust and would have done as they pleased had it not been for my father. As it was, they nearly had a complete fist wrapped around the workings of the kingdom when Smaug came.”

“How does that even _happen_?” Bilbo asked incredulously. “How does a noble’s word trump that of their king’s?”

“Money and gold,” Thorin said grimly. “They often hold the purse-strings of the kingdom, either by supply – controlling certain guilds – or by donation to the Treasuries. In Erebor, the nobles soon learned that by dropping gold in front of my grandfather, to further fill the Treasury and vaults, they could have his agreement to anything they wanted.”

“This could be what they’re doing in the Iron Hills.”

“It very well could be. They pushed for Dain to become king not because they wanted a royal ruler, but because it gave them more power. They don’t have to wear the crown to control it.”

Bilbo waited until Thorin had stopped pacing to speak again. “Then it looks as if Dain fought back.”

Thorin nodded, and there was a hint of pride in his smile. “Dain fought back. I have to imagine it felt a bit like coming out of the gold-lust did. One minute, there was nothing amiss, and the next, the lies fell away and the world felt clear again. And all that you had done while in the haze was suddenly revealed to you, and there were not enough apologies in the world to mend what you had broken.”

He hated when Thorin thought back to the days before the Ring had been cast away forever. “Don’t,” Bilbo said, and when Thorin turned to him in confusion, he narrowed his gaze. “And don’t give me that look, Thorin Oakenshield. I know what you’re thinking about, and I’m here to tell you that it’s over, it’s done, and I don’t want to hear another word about it. I’m wearing your ring and your bead. If that’s not a telling sign that those days have long been forgiven and forgotten, I don’t know what is.”

Thorin cupped Bilbo’s face and gently pressed their foreheads together. “I will always owe you more than you will ever know,” he murmured. “There is nothing I would not do for you.”

“Then go in there and talk to Dain,” Bilbo said. “He needs someone right now, Thorin.”

“Had he not turned away kin, he would have them to speak to-“

“I could see it so easily, and so could Dril and Fili, when they told me of your first meeting with him. It’s your word he craves, your approval that he still wants. The fact that he’s come out all this way, that doesn’t mean anything to you? Of the wisdom he’s gained the hard way over the past few years, of being freed from the haze that he had over his eyes?”

Thorin didn’t answer, but he seemed to waver more. Bilbo pressed against his husband’s forehead a little more. “He needs forgiveness, Thorin,” he said gently. “You followed me halfway across the earth to find yours, and he’s done the same thing. He’s alone and frightened of his own guards, for Eru’s sake! The nobles know he’s turning away from them, and if they’re as power-hungry as you think they are, what means do you think they’ll go to in order to get rid of him? What means did Dekir and Rutar do in order to try and be rid of me?”

Any hesitation Thorin might’ve had about reconciling with Dain was lost in the truth of Bilbo’s words. He gave a short nod and a firm kiss to Bilbo’s nose, then left the den with determination in his step.

Dain didn’t even glance up when they entered the kitchen again. He was gazing instead straight into his plate, looking like a man bound to the gallows. When Thorin’s footfalls went silent, however, he still spoke one last time. “You tried to tell me, tried to explain what it meant to be a king and how to earn the crown, and I didn’t listen. I wanted to be angry at you, you who had done so much and had gathered so many great treasures of kin and kind while I had nothing. I have failed more than my people – I have failed my kin and my cousin, who was once my greatest of friends. And that is something I can never undo.”

Dain’s hand settled on his fork again, eyes still low on the table. Before he could make a move to lift the utensil, however, Thorin’s hand settled over his, immediately bringing Dain’s head up. “It can be undone,” Thorin said quietly. “If there is one thing I have learned, it is that foul deeds and words spoken with unjust cruelty and quickly wrought anger can be taken back and forgiven, after a time.”

He didn’t look at Bilbo, but Bilbo’s cheeks went a little red all the same. Daft dwarf. Twenty years and Thorin _still_ wouldn’t let that day go.

But right now, nothing mattered more than the almost painful disbelief on Dain’s face, the slow dawning of hope in his eyes. “I cannot ask,” Dain managed hoarsely. “Thorin-“

“It’s never asked for,” Thorin said. “It’s always given, cousin.”

Dain looked ready to cry. “Right, time for alcohol and sweets,” Bilbo said, turning and heading for the pantry. Dain’s choked off laugh and Thorin’s amused snort followed him into the room, where he promptly pulled out two of his best wines and the box of biscuits. They were Bofur and Thorin’s favorites, and Bilbo could only hope that they’d tempt Dain, too.

There was a hope building in his chest, hope for Thorin, that he could see this relationship mended. It had been a plague on Thorin’s mind for long enough, and it sounded as if it had cost Dain dearly, too. Pride often went before the fall, as his mother had told him a time or twenty, and Dain had taken a hard fall from the pride that the nobles had only helped him to build. Perhaps they could all find peace, even on the stormiest of nights.

When he returned, Thorin already had the wine glasses out and was clearing the empty plates from the table. Dain was polishing off his tea, and the air felt so less stifling from before that Bilbo felt his shoulders drop several inches. “Next steps,” Bilbo said. “What do you need? What can we do?”

“Anything,” Dain said immediately. “Any thoughts, any aid, any lessons learned that you can give me. I don’t know what to do next, cousin. I traveled all the way here in terror, waiting for one of my guards to end me.”

It took a moment for Bilbo to realize that Dain was addressing _him_ as ‘cousin’. It made the corners of his lips turn up at the compliment. “Well, there’s one quick way to see if they’re on your side. See which one of them shows up tomorrow morning, frantically searching for you. They knew you were headed into the Shire, right?”

“And they knew who I was visiting,” Dain said with a nod. “I suppose there aren’t many Thorin Oakenshields about in the Shire.”

“Only the one,” Thorin said dryly. “They’ll find us quickly enough.”

Perhaps not: the hobbits were fiercely protective of them, and if they thought them a danger, then they would send the guards on a wild goose chase. Thorin seemed to be thinking the same thoughts as he paused, wine glasses in hand. “On the other hand,” Thorin began, but Dain shook his head.

“No matter. And what do you mean, when they show up? They’ll be coming with me tomorrow morning.”

“You’re not going back out there in _that_ ,” Bilbo said incredulously, pointing with a wine bottle to the dark and stormy outside. “You can’t be serious! No, absolutely not allowed. You’re staying here for the night.”

“But-“

“Cousin, that’s his, ‘Do not argue with me for I’ve reached the end of my rope’ voice,” Thorin said, patting him on the shoulder. “You’d best listen to it.”

“Oh, like you’ve always listened to it,” Bilbo said with a scowl. Thorin merely raised his eyebrows at him and started pouring the wine. “You’re dreadful at listening to it.”

“I’m more used to it than others, so it does get a bit repetitive.”

The _nerve_ of that dwarf. But it was a sign of how cheerful he was, and Dain was grinning ear to ear listening to them. Still, Bilbo couldn’t help but toss back one last comment. “Funny, you’re also the one who gets it the most. I wonder why that is.”

“And I believe that’s where you’d best leave off the argument,” Dain said with a laugh. “My wife gives me plenty of those tones, too. I’m very familiar with them.”

“Our eldest, Elodie, has picked it up from Bilbo. It’s very unfair.”

“My daughter, Laina, too. It’s hard when there’s more than one of them against you.”

Bilbo took his glass of wine, glancing at Thorin to see if he’d field it. But Thorin carefully took a biscuit to pop in his mouth, so Bilbo supposed it fell to him to ask. “Is she wed, your daughter? Elodie hasn’t even started seeing hearts in her eyes, thank Eru. She’s far too focused on her dog.” And it would remain that way for a great many more years, if Bilbo and Thorin had their ways, thank you _very_ much.

Despite Bilbo’s softened approach, Dain still winced. “She isn’t wed, no. It was…a hard time, for us. For some time, actually. But she’s been supportive of my efforts to push the nobles away, as has my wife. Far more than I deserve.” He shook himself after a moment and tried to get back to the earlier cheer. “I think my daughter has found someone, though, but she’s been very reticent in bringing him home. I’ve already told her that if he seems a decent sort and makes her happy, she is able to marry whomever she wants, but she still won’t bring him by. I understand, in a sense, given that whomever it is will be in the public eye, and perhaps she’s feeling pressed to have heirs. But I’m not quite certain she’s as determined about this young man as she thinks she is.”

“Or maybe he’s a she,” Bilbo said without thinking, and Dain sort of froze, glass half to his lips. Thorin resolutely took another bite of his biscuit, and Bilbo quickly downed three large gulps of his wine that went straight to his head.

After a moment, Dain finally nodded. “That…is a very good possibility. And if that’s the case, I have a feeling that I know who it is. I suppose Laina feels that she has to carry on the line, now that I’m King.”

“Just tell her she doesn’t have to,” Thorin said. “Kili has no interest in the throne coming to him, and Fili found a woman he loves dearly. It will work out. You have a son, yes?”

“Young still, but yes, I have a son. I suppose I should sit with them both and explain how it does not matter to me what they choose or whom they choose.” Dain rubbed at his face with his hands until his eyes were red. “Mahal, I have so much to repair.”

It was easy to rest a hand on Dain’s shoulder to comfort him, as lost as he was. “But you’ve already started,” Bilbo said quietly. “Here, with us. Your daughter and wife sound just as invested in your being safe as we are. You’ve got powerful allies. You haven’t lost everything. You can still be a good king and ruler.”

“I don’t want the crown,” Dain said resolutely. “I want to be done with it, to give it to someone else.”

“That’s not the advice I would give,” Thorin said. He shook his head when Dain looked to him in surprise. “That is the worst thing you could do now. You’ve taken up the mantle and the crown, and you will have to bear it.”

Dain looked as if he’d rather drink the mud water from the pathways. With a sigh Thorin sat down across from his cousin. “Being a king is no easy task. It is hard, and it is bitter. You have impossible choices to make that will affect the wellbeing of all who fall under your rule. What you do could change the future forever.”

“You did it,” Dain said. “You did it and you did it well. How?”

“I had a hobbit,” Thorin said, glancing at Bilbo. Bilbo gave a bright grin, impossibly pleased by the compliment. Thorin only shook his head, amused by Bilbo’s response. “I had a hobbit who was quick to tell me when I was being foolish and quicker still to love me all the same. That is what you need as a king.”

“Your wife and daughter sound like the perfect kind of counsel to keep your head above water, even in the worst of times. Thorin’s right: you’ve got to stick it through. I think between you two now, and your kin back home, you can come up with a viable plan to protect yourself and the Iron Hills from any machinations that the nobles might have up their sleeves.”

Dain moved his gaze between the both of them, his face giving away not a single emotion. After a moment, though, he began to smile, relieved and joyful. “I had not thought to have so much, when I came here,” he said quietly. “I had not even hoped for forgiveness, but I knew I had to try. Yet now I sit, two of the greatest beings this world has ever seen willing to aid me, and I cannot…”

He swallowed hard and reached his hand out, clasping one of their hands each with his. “I owe you both more than gratitude can say,” he said. “Thank you.”

Bilbo knew he had a million things to do – ensure the guest room was turned down for Dain, find tall candles in case he and Thorin continued talking well into the night, extra eggs for tomorrow’s breakfast, because he had a feeling there’d be guards at their door before the sun had barely risen, and anxious dwarves were hungry dwarves.

For now, though, his only duty was to cling back to Dain in much the same way Thorin was. That was far more important.

 

The tall candles were starting to look like short candles. They were going to need more, and Thorin mentally made a note of the other things they would need from the town. Eggs, because he knew his husband, and Bilbo was going to make a feast tomorrow morning. Elodie had been using one of her old hair brushes for Wingtail, and the hound truly needed a coarser brush than she was using. More candles, of course. And perhaps, if he could keep it hidden within the folds of his tunic without the hound sniffing it out, some of the chocolates that Bilbo favored. Because if ever his husband deserved decadence and favoritism, it was for this night, this impossible night that Thorin had never hoped for. He deserved another crown that he would never wear but Thorin wanted to forge all the same. Perhaps a chain meant to hold his pin, so he could wear it around his neck with Kili’s and Fili’s beads and Thengel’s horse pendant.

“He looks far older than I would have thought.”

Thorin paused, all thoughts coming to a halt. Dain’s face held far too much sympathy. “Hobbits…don’t live like dwarves do, do they?” And he glanced over at where Bilbo currently was, curled up in a chair. He’d refused to go to bed before they did, and had wound up dozing off not twenty minutes later. He was going to get a crick in his neck, most likely.

Thorin found himself gazing at his husband. He looked younger when he was asleep. Lines faded away in the peacefulness of dreams. His grey hair was starting to take a shine to it, even while the gold hues that had once been there were dulling. It was still as curly as ever, though, as was the hair on his feet, which stubbornly refused to be anything except for a perfect golden brown. It made Thorin grin. Stubborn to the last, just like the rest of his husband.

There were still lines, though. Bilbo’s hands were beginning to wrinkle, just a little. Just enough. He still moved like the hobbit Thorin had met twenty years ago, running off after Elodie and Frodo without a single care. He did rest a bit more than he had before, but he was still a hobbit to contend with.

“How old is he?” Dain asked quietly, setting aside the contract they’d been working on. A way to establish Dain’s rule as solid, a way to introduce new members to the Council without grudges being brought forward. Bilbo would have to take a look at it when he woke up.

And he was avoiding the question that would still be there every day, no matter how much Thorin hated the passing of time. “Seventy,” he said. “Akin to our 200 or so, I estimate.”

“Not that much younger than you, then, anymore,” Dain said. He did not say the obvious, _He’ll pass you in age,_ and Thorin thanked him for that small reprieve. It wasn’t as if Thorin hadn’t thought it a million times before.

Because Thorin potentially had another fifty years of life left, if not more. Living here in the peace and quiet of the Shire, it was with every confidence that Thorin expected he could live to see 265 years pass. Perhaps even more. But Bilbo?

Bilbo wouldn’t go another fifty years. Thorin would be lucky for another forty years, and that was pushing it, as far as the hobbits were concerned. To live to see 110 for a hobbit was quite a remarkable event. Any birthday after 100 was celebrated by all. Only some had seen the record age of 120.

Thorin desperately wanted Bilbo to break that record, but he had the sinking feeling that it was not meant to be.

Gandalf had given him a small hope, once, in that Bilbo had carried the Ring for a time. _“It gave Gollum a great, long life. There is nothing to say that it will not allow Bilbo a few extra years.”_

Bilbo had only carried it for a year before he’d cast it into the flames of Mount Doom. Thorin wasn’t certain what kindness it would grant him, but given the torment that the cursed Ring had brought to Bilbo, he thought it was only fair it would give him something good in return. Give _Thorin_ something good.

“Cousin?”

Thorin shook himself and realized he’d been lost in his thoughts for quite some time. Dain set his pen down – one of Bilbo’s favorites – and rested his hand instead on Thorin’s arm. “I think we’ve done all we can tonight. Take your husband to bed, and I will find my room of rest. Thank you for keeping me for the night.”

“Of course. Though I can’t help one who’s foolish enough to come wandering through a muddy Shire on one of the worst storm nights we’ve had in weeks,” Thorin said. Dain grinned and clapped Thorin on the back.

“I never claimed to be wise, cousin. You should know that by now.”

Getting wiser, though. Not many would seek aid over their pride, especially after they had wronged another. Thorin pushed himself to his feet and went to pull Bilbo to his, but a hand to his shoulder made him stop.

Dain stood before him, his face barely lit by the candles. Yet his eyes were knowing and his voice, when he spoke, was gentle. “All we can do is keep the years we have. Only Mahal knows when we will visit the Halls of our Fathers. I am certain Yavanna tends to her children in much the same way. Keep your years, cousin. Make them the best you can be. That is all we can do.” Then he left, quietly moving down the hall.

Thorin stared after him into the dark until his eyes had well adjusted to the night. “Perhaps wiser than even you thought yourself to be,” he murmured. There was wisdom there to be had. Perhaps the Iron Hills would indeed have a king worthy of the crown and his people.

He turned to his husband and paused before waking him. Bilbo looked so peaceful as he was there that Thorin hated to wake him. He was going to regret sleeping in the chair, though, and he wouldn’t thank Thorin for it, so Thorin finally reached for him. “Bilbo,” he whispered, even as his husband stirred. “Beloved. You need a better bed than the chair.”

“M’wake,” Bilbo protested, but he yawned and barely managed to open his eyes.

Thorin chuckled and decided to speed things up. With careful hands he pulled Bilbo from the chair and straight into his arms, cradling him against his chest. “You know, I can walk,” Bilbo said sleepily, but he didn’t fight to be put down. “Honestly.”

“It’s not often I get to carry my husband to bed,” Thorin said. He pressed a kiss to Bilbo’s forehead and refused to think about the color of his hair. Not tonight. “Especially when he’ll be up first thing in the morning cooking everything there is to be cooked in sight.”

“There’ll be hungry dwarves on our doorstep before the sun shines over the eastern hills, you mark my words.”

Thorin had his doubts, but he hoped that Bilbo would prove right once more. “Then all the more reason for you to get sleep.”

“With you,” Bilbo said and yawned again, nearly making Thorin yawn.

“With me,” Thorin agreed and carried Bilbo down the hallway to their bed.

 

The next morning, before the sun had done much more than cast a few rays over Hobbiton, there was a frantic knocking at the door. Bilbo was already at the fire, cooking up every egg he had. He only raised his eyebrow at Thorin and Dain, one of whom seemed surprised while the other merely rolled his eyes and rose to get the door. A moment later, Thorin came back with four very anxious dwarven guards in tow, and they only breathed a sigh of relief when they found Dain whole and well in the kitchen.

“Breakfast?” Bilbo offered, nowhere near as surprised as Dain was, and when Dain looked at his guards in askance, they quickly agreed.

They were polite as could be, two of them brothers, and their presence was enjoyed. Dain took the opportunity to speak with them, as a friend would speak with another friend – something he obviously hadn’t done before if the looks on their faces was any indication. They seemed pleased to speak with him, however, and by the end of breakfast Dain had them all laughing with some story about his childhood, ending with a young Thorin utterly embarrassing his cousin. Elodie and Frodo looked enthralled and giggled almost as hard as the guards laughed.

It was very obvious now just where Fili and Kili had gotten their mischievous side from. Not that Bilbo had ever had any sort of doubts about _that_.

It was almost sad, then, when Dain said he had to leave. “It’s a long journey back, and I had hoped to stop in Moria on my return. They were kind enough to allow me a place to stay the first time. And, hopefully, I can make my way to Erebor in order to speak with King Fili. There are things I’d like to express to him.”

“I’m certain he’d be delighted to entertain you,” Thorin said. “He has a friend in the Council of the Iron Hills which I know he’d be happy to tell you all about.”

A safe member of the nobles, one Dain could trust. Dain gave a quick grin that threatened to tremble under his emotions. “Thank you, cousin. I’ll do that.”

“You should come back, if you’ve any more stories to tell,” Elodie said, Frodo ever by her side. “I liked your story this morning.”

“You should,” Bilbo said. “Not that being a king allows many chances for that. But if you ever feel the need to be ‘diplomatic’ with other people, then we’d be happy to see you returned.”

Thorin nodded and smiled at Dain. “There’s always a room.”

“And there’s always a place for you in the Iron Hills, if you ever come wandering that far,” Dain declared. In a lower voice he added, “But I think you’ve found your place for your future years, cousin.”

Thorin’s smile just broadened, and after a quick tap of their foreheads, Dain was off, his four guards immediately by his side. They were far more relaxed than before, and Bilbo watched them go, over the muddy grounds of the Shire. Dain seemed several feet taller than he had just last night, having been set free of a terrible burden.

Thorin, too, seemed to be breathing better, a smile still playing on his lips. “Are you planning on sending a letter to Fili, telling him about Dain’s arrival?” Bilbo asked him.

“I am, yes. I hope I can express to them Dain’s change and how he needs Fili’s help. There is only so much I can do for him.”

Personally, Bilbo thought that Thorin had done more than everything for Dain, but Thorin would never believe it. “I think Fili will see that change for himself. But a letter giving him a head’s up would be kind.”

“Agreed. I’ll find a Ranger willing to take it to an aviary. That should ensure it reaches Erebor well before Dain does.” He glanced down at Bilbo and smiled. “We need more tall candles in town anyway. Wingtail needs a new brush.”

“You mean Wingtail needs a _real_ brush. I’ve seen what Elodie’s been using on the poor hound. I can guarantee that she hasn’t gotten any of the real tangles out-“

“Wingtail!”

Something shot past Bilbo and Thorin and straight out into the yard. In an instant white and silver fur was covered in mud as Wingtail happily wriggled around in it. Frodo giggled and giggled from their feet while Elodie sort of covered her mouth, half in horror, half to hide her own scandalized amusement.

Bilbo and Thorin both stared at the dog for a long moment. “I’ll get the brush,” Bilbo said after the pause. “I’ll have it back to you by the time you’ve finished washing him up.”

“Oh no. _I’ll_ get the brush and other things from the market while _you_ wash him up.”

“You’d do that to your husband? The one who just helped you reconcile with your cousin while potentially saving an entire kingdom? _Again_?”

“You cannot already be using that against me.”

“When it comes to washing dogs, I’ll use anything I can get, husband of mine.”

In the end, it didn’t matter, because Wingtail wound up bounding back into the house after encasing himself in mud and running straight into Thorin and Bilbo in the process. The hound was then washed down in the back yard along with a hobbit and a dwarf. Only after they were all as clean as they were going to get, soaked clothes notwithstanding, did they bring Wingtail back inside and deposit him in the kitchen to dry off.

The day was a sunny one as they all wandered down to the market with a letter to mail and tall candles to buy. Elodie was finally convinced that the coarser brush was better suited for a dog’s hair, and no, it wouldn’t hurt him. Frodo found a stack of oranges he insisted come home with them, for whatever reason, so fruit was added to the list of items they purchased.

And somehow, despite all of that, Thorin did still manage to surprise Bilbo with the chocolates, and his husband’s smile was the greatest thing that had happened to him that day. The chain was still yet to come, and Thorin looked forward to that day when he could see the surprised and pleased smile on his husband’s lips again.

_Finis_

 


End file.
